


Colours of his Soul.

by violetknights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blindness, M/M, PTSD, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-06
Updated: 2007-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetknights/pseuds/violetknights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a challenge from Celebelei on Sinful Desires. Sam gets kidnapped, really bad stuff happens to Sam, he’s left traumatised and blind, Dean has to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colours of his Soul.

**Silent Green**  
A hunt had taken them down south where a wannabe Voodoo priest was raising Zombies he was unable to control; it ended in an explosion of gore and slime in downtown Baton Rouge.

“God dammit! Why don’t these people ever think before doing shit like this?” Sam groused out as he wiped the grime from his hands onto his jeans. He turned to face Dean who was sweating and grinning manically.

Dean was amped from the hunt and the slaughter, he didn’t care that he had blood spattered over his leather jacket and a big smear of slime on one cheek. As they climbed into the Impala Dean reached for the bottle of Jack he’d had stashed under the dash.

“Hey Bro! Let’s get cleaned up and head over to the carnival. We haven’t been to one since you were twelve. Do you remember? You ate too much cake and threw up. Dad was so pissed at you.” Dean was chuckling at the memory.

“Get real!” Sam snorted in disgust. “He was pissed at you. When you disappeared…” Sam looked down and swallowed hard. “We thought you’d been taken by something.”

Sam remembered all too clearly the panic he’d felt when Dean didn’t come home on time. He remembered the look on his Dad’s face as they’d left the safety of the motel room to look for Dean. The fear that they would never find his older brother had been a ball of acid burning in his stomach.

They’d methodically searched nearby bars and alleys, only to find Dean and a showgirl from the carnival locked in a passionate clinch in a doorway. Dean had laughed at their fear. “Don’t sweat it, we’re allowed a little play time.” He’d been so casual as he’d zipped himself up and sauntered down the alley, leaving Sam and John trembling with adrenaline as the terror receded. It was fear that had made Sam throw up, not fucking cake.

Dean swatted his little brother round the shoulder, “Good times!” he grinned. “Come on Sammy, if you’re a good boy I’ll get two girls this time! One for you too” He tickled his brother under the chin. “I’ll even let you have the pretty one,” his tone was teasing, guaranteed to get a rise out of his little brother.

Sam jerked away and bit his lip. “It’s Sam you asshole!” he muttered wearily. Then he nodded. It was easier to give in and keep the peace when Dean was like this.

**************

Back at the motel they’d showered and changed, drinking a couple of bottles of beer and stashing away the remaining explosives and detonators. Dean had been in too much of a hurry to take too long and he’d practically dragged Sam out to the nearest street party he could find as soon as they were ready.

They had tagged on to a big group of revellers and Dean was really getting into the party spirit. Sam was exhausted, he felt uneasy as he watched Dean swigging from a bottle of Rum, shirt tied round his waist, favours and medallions round his neck, having a good time. Sam was happy for him, really he was. Dean was so tense and angry these days, and it was good to see him laugh, but for himself, Sam felt out of place. He just wanted to be back at the motel. The hunt had worn him out. He needed some downtime to re-collect his thoughts and gather strength for whatever was thrown at them next.

Dean had turned his grin up even further and was flirting on max power as a group of drunken masked girls put more necklaces on him and vied with each other to leave lipstick kisses on his arms and chest. The girls shrieked and squealed and admired his muscles. Dean played up to it, flexing his arms like Mr Universe.

Sam couldn’t suppress the shudder of lust that ran through him. God but Dean was so beautiful. Sam understood all the people who threw themselves at his gorgeous big brother. Sam’s dirtiest and guiltiest secret was that he would give anything to trade places with them. He could feel the current of jealousy run through him like a hot knife as a girl flicked Dean’s nipple with her pointed little tongue and Dean whooped and ground his crotch into her thigh. She grabbed the bottle from him, dripping the spirit down Dean’s chest, and then licked it off as her friends cheered them on.

Sam watched Dean through hooded eyelids and wished with all his might that he could just shove him against a wall now. He played the scene out in his mind, the girl discarded like so much trash, as Sam held Dean’s hands together in one of his over, Dean’s head. The weight of Sam’s body pinning Dean to the wall while Sam’s tongue teased Dean’s nipple into delicious hardness.

Sam licked his suddenly dry lips and his breath hitched at the thought of Dean pinned against the wall, writhing and helpless under Sam’s touch. That dirty grin saved for Sam and Sam alone. Sam let out a deep, shuddering breath as he forced his mind to relinquish the image. God, but Dean would hate him if he knew what Sam was thinking.

Sam took another pull on his beer and looked around. The crowd had thinned out and moved on. This end of the street was nearly deserted now, except for a few drunks spilling out of a bar and on to the street. A group of men walked towards him and as they passed it seemed to Sam that they looked at him just a second or two longer than necessary. They looked weird, their masks weren’t traditional carnival masks but black rubber fetish hoods painted with bright rings of clown colour round their mouths and eyes, one blue, one red, another green and the last one purple. The effect was freakish and more than a little disconcerting; Sam sped up a little to catch up with Dean who was being swept along with the girls towards the bigger crowd further up the road.

Suddenly Sam felt himself grabbed from behind. Two of the masked men pinned him between them and a rough hand was clamped over his mouth before he could cry out. A third stabbed a needle into his shoulder and Sam slumped between them. They swiftly spirited him away, through the bar, supporting him between them as though he was drunk. From there he was bundled into a waiting truck and driven away into the night.

**************

Dean was suddenly aware that Sam wasn’t in his usual place at his side, he turned back from crowd, but Sam was nowhere in sight. _Gone,_ the word throbbed through his brain and Dean felt instantly sober. He pushed the clinging girls away from him as he ran back the way they’d come calling Sam's name. “Sammy, quit foolin’ around. Come on Sammy.” Thinking, hoping, _he’s getting me back for last time_ but knowing in his heart that Sammy wasn’t like that, Sammy didn’t play those sorts of games.

Half an hour of desperate searching later, the only traces of Sam were his beer bottle shattered on the alley floor and his cell phone ringing uselessly from a Dumpster. A waitress in the nearby bar remembered the pretty drunk boy being carried by masked men but didn’t see where they went; and the trail was already cold.

**************

Dean raced back to the motel room, hoped against hope he would find Sam there waiting for him. He’d find him sprawled on the bed watching TV or hammering away on his laptop. Maybe even taking another long shower, standing under the needles of water till every last vestige of heat had been wrenched from it. But the room was still just as they’d left it, empty bottles discarded on the nightstand, Sammy’s clothes tossed on the bathroom floor.  
Dean wished he’d been kinder to his brother that evening. He would do anything to turn back the clock and do what Sammy needed for once, to stay in and be quiet together. But Dean couldn’t do that so he’d pushed Sam into going out. Worse still, he’d put on a show for Sam even though Dean knew what was going on in his little brother’s head. Sammy was so bad at keeping secrets from Dean, every horny little thought he had was written on his face for Dean to read.

It frightened Dean to see the intensity of feeling on Sam’s face sometimes, a hungry neediness that Dean was afraid he’d never be able to fill. So now Dean kept dragging them out to hunt, to fight, to party, because he was afraid of being alone with Sam. Nervous in case he let it slip that he felt the same way and _Sammy is my baby brother for fucks sake! What good would it do for him to know? There was so much that was wrong with that scenario even if they were freaks._

So Dean had pushed them into going out so he could get wasted and forget for a little while the longing that seemed to be a permanent ache in his belly. It was his fault that Sam was gone.

Some fucker had his necklace, Dean realised. It must have been that little bitch he’d been messing with. For Dean it was the last straw, he felt totally bereft, momentarily paralysed by his loss. He picked up Sam’s shirt. Although it was spattered in slime and gore it still smelled like Sammy, healthy and innocent, like spring rain or new mown hay. Dean buried his face in it and howled. _I’ll find you, Sammy. I swear to god, I’ll find you._

**************

 **Ultra Violent**

As the door to his prison opened and Sam lifted his head, brushing straggly hair out of his eyes. He flinched as a shaft of light lit up his dark cell, dragging him back from dreams of Dean and an end to this ordeal. He wondered dully which one of his captors it would be coming to torment him this time. Sam had lost all track of time down here, it could have been days, weeks or months, he didn’t know. All Sam knew was that footsteps down those stairs were never a good thing; heralding only a world of anguish and agony that he could never have imagined.

 _This time_ he thought, _this time I’ll stay strong. This time I won’t cry or beg._ But in the end he always did.

**************

So Dean was alone again, on the road, hurting and hunting, the need to find Sammy overwhelming He hardly stopped to sleep or eat, living on high octane coffee and Tequila. The only thing that mattered now was Sammy; Sammy was still alive, Dean could feel it in his soul. Sometimes at night he would drink himself to sleep for an hour or two and in his dreams he could hear Sam calling him, begging and pleading and crying out. Dean didn’t know how, but he knew it was a race against time. If he didn’t get to Sammy soon it would be too late.

Dean did the thing he knew best – he hunted. He called in every favour he could think of, asked every badass hunter he could find along the way until he picked up the trail again. Found a drunk from the bar, a PI who memorised licence plates out of habit. He tracked down every car the ex-detective had seen that night until he found the truck burned out in an abandoned car lot on the outskirts of Aurora. It was a dead end though; the truck was rented in a false name and paid for with cash. There were no clues to be found on the burnt and rusted metal.

Dean laid his hand on the blackened and twisted wreckage, and choked back an image of Sammy lying there helpless. That was another night lost in a bottle of Tequila. The next morning he forced himself back on the road, took himself wearily back to square one to start looking all over again. He went back to New Orleans and that damned bar.

Drawing on his inner resources Dean tried again with the waitress. He turned the charm up high and bought her a drink schmoozed her with all his might. And finally his efforts paid off, as the girl gave him better descriptions of the masks. Dull black leather and cartoon coloured clown paint.

More research on Sammy’s laptop, and dammit if just laying his hands on the thing made him feel like he was touching Sam in a way he shouldn’t. _Just when did you get a hold of a picture of me working on the Impala to use as a screen saver, Sammy?_ , It made Dean feel like he was reading the kid’s diary, or looking at his cell phone messages.

Dean knew those freak masks had to be custom made. Fuelled with grim determination he worked for days trawling websites that made him feel sick and his skin crawl, until he found the demon craftsman who made them.

Another long car journey across too many states to think about and Dean was on familiar territory again – breaking in to a warehouse in the dead of night. He’d had to fight the security guard before trashing the office in his search for customer manifests and old orders. That led to the credit card that had bought the masks, and the delivery address.

Finally Dean had a name, an address, somewhere to go. Five weeks on the road that led him back home to Lawrence. To A small woodland just outside of town, where the credit card guy owned a holiday home. A little wooden cottage hidden from view down a long track, the fucker had used the same credit card to pay the bills on it. Some small-town politician and his sleazy friends looking for fun of the wrongest sort, and Sammy, his Sammy had been chosen. Newspaper reports for the area showed that young men had a nasty habit of disappearing into thin air; going out to bars and not coming home. At least six in the past five years, their bodies had never been found.

**************

They’d left Sam alone for several days, maybe even a week. A week of pacing the tiny cell, rationing out the water they’d left him, scratching his fingernails off trying to open the door. He’d hammered uselessly on the door and walls till his fists were bruised and bleeding. He yelled himself hoarse in the hope that someone would come. The first time one of the hooded men had opened that door Sam had almost been pleased to see him. He’d been grateful to know that there was someone else left on the planet.

It didn’t last though. All too quickly Sam learned what a visit from one of his captors entailed and his every waking moment became filled with dread.

The one in the green hood liked it rough, wanted to fight Sammy. He liked to kick and punch; a boot to the ribs or a blow to the kidneys. He never said a word, just scrutinised Sam’s face for some sign or reaction that would make him stop. Sammy was half starved and already in pain, he didn’t stand a chance. He tried to fight back but was chained and hurting already. Green just went on and on until Sam dropped to the floor with exhaustion.

He just kept on kicking and tormenting Sam till he was on the verge of passing out. Sam didn’t know what he was looking for, on bad days when Sam thought his heart would give out from the torment, he would beg, plead with him.“Tell me what to say, tell me what you want me to do”. But Green never said a word just thud, thud, thud until Sammy drifted away on a sea of pain.

Blue hood worked like an artist with Sam as his canvas. When he came in Red would help him shackle Sam to the wall, spread eagled, cheek pressed into cold, dank stone. Sometimes Red would stay to watch, sitting on the stairs and chuckling with appreciation as Blue wielded his tools. Blue’s hands were always cold, fingers like ice that traced the paths of his previous work. “Healin’ so clean,” he’d say, with the voice of a perfect Southern gentleman. “Perfect stripes, look at the symmetry.” Then standing back he’d take a run up to apply four more perfect symmetrical stripes with a rapier-like whip that carved into Sam’s flesh like a knife through butter.

They’d leave him there like that for hours, his back flayed and bleeding, joints screaming for release from their unnatural position. Sam soon learned that struggling against his bonds only made the agony worse. The pain would become so intense he could see it bursting like flowers behind his eyelids. It was then that Sam would hear Dean’s voice in his head, “I’m coming for you little brother.” Sam would feel like he was flying on the pain, flying out of his body and into Dean’s arms.

Purple hood like shackles too, he would strip Sam naked and force him to his knees. Then he’d cuff Sam’s hands behind his back with chains so heavy Sam was pinned in place. A cruel, calloused hand would be twisted into Sam's hair and his head yanked back. The hooded tormentor would pinch Sam’s nostrils shut until Sam was forced to open his mouth, gasping for breath. A thick, purple cock would be forced into Sam’s mouth. Sam would feel the cracked skin of his lips tearing, would gag at the metallic tang of blood and worse. The man would fuck Sam’s face till he came, pumping hot seed down Sam’s throat. Then Sam would be tossed to the floor where he lay retching and puking. . That’s when he would cry for his mom. Not Dean; he couldn’t bear for Dean to see him like this.

Sam thought Red was the worst though and dreaded his arrival more that any of the others. Red would come when the others had finished with him. Red would wash Sam’s face, clean up the blood and the semen and the puke. He’d undo the shackles and massage Sam's wrists until the blood tingled and burned through his veins. Red would feed him bread and water and settle him on the narrow cot, and then he would start his own brand of torture. Seated on the side of the cot he would lean in close as a lover. He’d swing Dean’s necklace in front of Sam’s face, fix Sam with his icy blue gaze and say “Hey Sam, Let me tell you again how I killed your brother….”

Sam squeezed his eyes closed tight. This torture would only end when they killed him. Dean couldn't save him because Dean was already dead, buried out the back in a shallow grave. He didn’t want to see who was coming down the stairs because it wouldn’t make it any easier to bear what was coming.

Silent tears rolled down Sam’s face. He was glad Dean was dead, glad he’d been spared this pain, now all Sam wanted was to join him.

**************

  
 **Infra Dead**

Dean lay on his belly in the woods, high power night scope binoculars trained on the scene in front of him. The Impala was hidden nearby ready for a quick getaway. Dean had found three shallow graves out the back when he was scouting the place, so he didn’t think he’d feel too bad if he had to kill them all. At last he was so close to Sam he could almost feel the air humming with his brother’s pain. It took all his years of training to keep himself still and focused.

The evening air was cool and fresh, but tainted with cigar smoke. The freaks wore their hoods, some kind of secret society badge of honour, nasty old men playing at being frat boys. They played poker on the porch, drinking whisky and laughing raucously.  
The purple hooded one poured more shots. “Hurry the fuck up with this game! It’s my turn to play with the puppy tonight.”  
The red one clapped him on the back laughing fit to bust. “I like this one, he’s got fight. He’s lasting longer than the others did.”

“Yeah,” drawled blue. “I told you if we caught ourselves a hunter we’d get more fun out of him.”

Dean swallowed convulsively with impotent rage. He knew it was his Sammy they were laughing about, and he was going to make them pay. In his hand a silenced .45 was just itching to be used. Dean had to wait his moment though, couldn’t risk them using Sam as a hostage.

Finally Dean got his chance. The green masked freak shoved back his chair and wandered into the house. The red one lit a cigar and strolled into the woods where he stood inches away from Dean. He unzipped his trousers and prepared to pee against the tree. A silent bullet to the brain and he dropped like a stone before he even knew anyone else was there. Dean was already shooting as he ran towards the porch, the other two were dead before they could stand up.

As he burst in through the door the green one was waiting for him. A strong arm around Dean’s throat and his gun sent skittering across the floor. The man was no match for Dean on a good day, now with rage and adrenalin coursing through Dean’s veins it was a matter of seconds for Dean to overpower him. With a jerk of his shoulder Dean broke free. He punched as hard as he could, his fist driving into the soft flesh of the mans belly. The man doubled over retching as Dean leaped onto his back, hands around his throat. With a final grunt of rage Dean wrenched hard on the hooded mans neck. With a loud snap it broke and the body crumpled and sagged against him. Dean flung it to the floor in disgust.

Trembling partly from the effort of killing and partly from the adrenaline rush Dean began to toss the room looking for signs of where Sammy might be. A faint moan made him drop the diary he was holding. He listened and heard it again, the sound tearing at his heartstrings as he recognised Sam’s voice.

“Sammy, where are you? Sammy!” Dean yelled but got no response. “Dammit Sammy, answer me!” Again his frantic shouts were met with silence. Dean forced himself to calm down. God only knew what those masked freaks had done to his baby brother. Dean knew he had to stay focused for Sammy’s sake.

Breathing slowly, Dean began to search the remaining rooms in the ground floor of the shack. He knew Sam had to be close, he’d heard him. The dingy kitchen didn’t look big enough to hide anything, but then he heard it again. Sam’s voice was a low moaning whimper that sent waves of anguish up Dean’s spine. Dean scanned the kitchen and spotted a locked door in the corner , “Sammy, its Dean, stand away from the door,” He ordered. No time to pick locks now so Dean kicked with all of his strength, grateful for his steel toe-caps. One good, hard kick and the door splintered off its hinges. Dean could see a narrow wooden staircase. It lead to a tiny dirt floor cellar with his Sammy huddled on a cot in the corner.

“Come on little bro, get your ass in gear, we gotta run!” Dean was down the stairs three at a time and kneeling by his brother’s side as he spoke. He pulled Sammy into his arms holding him close for a moment, before rocking back to assess his brother’s condition. Sam was dressed in only a T-shirt and boxers, filthy and torn. An iron shackle bolted to the wall beside him prevented Sam from moving too far, the chain was fixed round his ankle with a thick padlock. Even in the gloom Dean could see the numerous injuries that marred Sam’s face and body. Sam’s lips were cracked and bleeding, and an egg shaped bruise was raised on his temple.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was thin and trembling, barely more than a whisper. His face lit up as first shock and disbelief then joy flashed across his it. “It’s too dark in here, where are you?” He reached out a hand and groped the air in front of him until Dean grabbed it. “I’ve got you, Sammy, come on,” His voice quavered as he tried to suppress his distress at seeing Sam like this. Dean hauled Sam to his feet but he stumbled and fell, his legs unable to hold him up.  
“He had your necklace Dean, they said you were dead,” there was a sob in Sam’s voice as he spoke.

Dean was dangerously close to losing it now. He couldn’t stand seeing Sam broken like this, injured and chained like an animal. He had to get him free. “I’ll go look for the keys.” He tried to pull away but Sam clutched him like a drowning man to a life raft. “Don’t leave me Dean, please don’t leave me,” he moaned. The pain and terror in his baby brother’s voice meant Dean never wanted to leave his side again.

Dean aimed his gun where the shackle was bolted to the wall. He emptied the magazine into the wall, the sound reverberating round the tiny cellar and making his ears ring. Dean was getting freaked now, they had to hurry. He had left a trail of dead bodies in his desperate search for Sam, human bodies. Not the usual combust in the sun type, he wanted to be gone from this state by morning.

As gently as he could he hoisted Sam up and put him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift . He was shocked at how light his brother felt. Sam moaned again, then fell silent. Dean was afraid he’d passed out from the pain because Sam was a dead weight as Dean made his way out of the shack and to the Impala hidden in the woods. Dean carefully laid him across the back seat and covered him with a blanket. “You’re safe now Sammy, I’ll be back as quick as I can,” he muttered gently. His words were more for his own benefit than for Sam, who seemed to be unconscious.

Dean still had to fight to maintain his focus. All he wanted to do now was hide with Sammy in the Impala and hold him close forever. Dean was suddenly glad of the marine training that had been drilled into him since he was six. A thorough clean up job would buy them some more time to get as far from this fucked up hell hole as possible.

He dragged the four bodies one by one to the cellar steps and bundled the corpses down into Sam’s former prison. He lifted a large bunch of keys from the Red one’s pocket where it was tangled round with the leather thong of his necklace. _Where the fuck did you get that from then?_ he mused. Dean slipped the talisman back over his head and put the keys in his pocket. He hoped that maybe one of the keys would get that thing off Sam’s leg.

When all the bodies were in the cellar Dean ripped off the hoods and scrutinised their faces. No clues, no one he recognised. Nothing to tell him why they had ripped Sammy from his life and taken him across four states to let him rot in that cellar for the past five weeks. _Fuck it, demons I understand, but some people were just fucking crazy.!_

A couple of jerry cans of petrol and a match meant that when the state police arrived the next morning, all that was left was a pile of charred rubble. The shack had collapsed down into the cellar as it burned, hiding its secrets until it was too late for anyone to realise the significance of what had happened out there in the woods.

**************

 **Blue without you.**

12 hours later and the Impala was parked outside a motel that was a couple of steps up from the roach pads they usually stayed in. Dean walked wearily back from checking them in. As he walked across the parking lot he took another swig of coffee, the extra strength brew was the only thing that was keeping him going – he’d been awake for 48 hours now. He didn’t care, he had Sammy back and that was all that mattered. He’d tend to Sam and get him settled and then he could let himself relax. The pain, that great aching emptiness that had threatened to engulf him when Sammy was gone had receded to be replaced with a need to nurture Sammy, to protect him, to never let him be hurt again.

“God, I sound like such a girl!” Dean muttered as he unlocked their room and prepared to wake Sam and bring him in from the Car.

“Dean? Dean I can’t see you. Dean!” Sam’s voice was hoarse and panicked.  
“Sshh!” Dean pressed a finger gently to Sam’s lips, “Wait till we’re inside”.  
Again he lifted his brother, shocked at the frailty of his lanky frame. In the motel room Dean guided his injured brother to the bed and Sam sank down with a sigh of relief. Dean gave him Tylenol and milk, Sam drank greedily, messily. Dean guided the mug to his mouth. “Can you eat anything?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, “No, I …no I just want to get clean.”  
Dean nodded, then realised his brother couldn’t see him, “Okay.”

Dean had removed the rusted shackle when he’d returned to the Impala from torching the cottage. He’d injected Sam with morphine to sedate him through the journey but it was wearing off. Sam was shivering, whether from cold or pain Dean wasn’t sure. Gently now, Dean began to tend to his brother’s injuries. First he removed the soiled clothing, cutting it off so as to cause Sam as little pain as possible. Then he added antiseptic to a bowl of warm water and prepared the various salves and remedies that he hoped would help.

Dean didn’t know where to start. He couldn’t bear to hurt his brother further, but knew he had no choice. “Okay Sammy, lets get this over with,” he said softly. Tenderly Dean began to clean his brother, the wash cloth tracing lines of a body that had once been as familiar as his own but was now way too thin. Sam’s lanky frame bore silent testimony to the abuse he had suffered. Dean murmured as he worked a soothing litany of nonsense to reassure Sammy that Dean was still there. Telling Sammy that he was safe, that somehow Dean had reached down into that pit of hell and brought him back.

Dean found himself making a mental catalogue of Sam’s injuries and wishing he had taken his time in killing the sick freaks who had inflicted them. Stripes from a whip latticed his back. he had broken ribs, a broken collar bone, a cigarette burn on his thigh. His eye was black and swollen, his lips torn and split, wrists and ankles swollen and chafed from the shackles. All over him were fist shaped bruises and boot shaped bruises, all in rainbow shades, some old, some fresh. Those beautiful puppy dog eyes were void of expression, though they filled with angry tears as Sam strained to pick out Deans face.

Dean remembered that night so long ago when he had first nursed Sam on his lap for hours as his father raged and cursed and wept for their mother. It had been the first night of many. Dean remembered how baby Sammy would quiet in Dean’s arms when no one else could settle him. Dean tried to summon all of that calming, caring energy now as he rubbed healing ointment onto Sam’s back. Then he put arnica on his bruises and smeared Vaseline on his split lips. Sam sat unmoving, barely flinching at his brother’s ministrations. Didn’t move even though each touch must have caused him excruciating pain.

Dean could feel a bone numbing weariness overtaking him, but knew that there was one more thing he had to say. He knew the question that had to be asked, wishing for all the world that he didn’t have to be the one to ask it.

“Sammy, did they rape you?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. He gently laid his hand alongside Sammy’s cheek, knowing instinctively that if Sam couldn’t see him he’d need the reassurance of Dean’s touch.

Sam tentatively raised his hand to meet Dean’s. “Uh, no, no, nothing like that, I’m OK,” he stammered. Dean could see just how far from OK Sam really was.

Carefully he eased a shirt over Sammy’s shoulders and buttoned it up. He’d picked one of his own, the oldest, softest one he could find. The brothers sat there for a moment, just holding each other. Sam was nestled into the hollow of Dean’s neck and was starting to drift off to sleep again. Carefully Dean laid Sam down to lie on his front. “Get some sleep Sammy; we’ll get you to a doctor tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t need a Doctor, they can’t do anything for me that you can’t do better.”  
At least Dean felt he’d really got Sam back then, from the stubborn tilt of his jaw, to the determination in his voice. He wondered if he’d ever be able to refuse Sam anything ever again, and really _would a lifetime of saying yes to Sam be so bad?_

Dean shook his head to clear that thought out of the way. He gently traced his finger down Sam’s jaw line, rubbed the ball of his thumb softly over Sam’s eyelids. “We’ll give it a couple of days, see how you go,” he promised.

  
Dean stood up and stretched, the full weight of his exhaustion finally hitting him now that Sam was finally safe. He slung his boots into the corner and laid down on the other twin bed fully clothed. He was asleep in seconds.

**************

  
Lying in the dark listening to the sounds that filled the motel room, silent tears slid down to soak Sam’s pillow. He could hear Deans breathing, steady and calm in the darkness. Sam felt as though each breath was precious, something to treasure. He had believed he would never hear it again.

When he’d first heard Dean’s voice shouting in the room above, Sam had thought it was a dream, a hallucination or another cruel trick on the part of his captors. The realisation that his brother was alive, that he’d found him, even killed for him tied Sam to Dean even more strongly than ever before. This was everything to Sam now he couldn’t see Dean’s face. He couldn’t watch that wicked grin transform into a flash of tenderness and then back (“No chick flick moments”), couldn’t hunt with him or fight with him. He still had this though, silent togetherness, listening to Dean breathe in the dark.

**************

  
Dean woke with a start. Sam was sobbing, whimpering in an uneasy sleep. At his side in a moment Dean couldn’t bear to see Sam suffer any more. Dean stroked his little brother’s forehead, brushing back strands of floppy hair, and Sam calmed almost instantly. Dean looked at him again, his eyes drawn to that long, lean curve of Sam’s spine. Once so golden and perfect now pale and marked with the cruel lash wounds. He had to swallow back tears of impotent fury again; death had been too good for them. Dean had been an angel of mercy killing them swiftly and silently. He should have been a vengeance demon, flaying them alive and eating their livers. Ripping their still beating hearts from their bodies.

Moving away from Sam’s side to watch the fading sunset through the motel window, Dean fought back the impulse to reach for the Tequila bottle. Instead he shoved his bed up against Sam’s, and curled up to sleep next to his brother.

Sam lay there drifting in and out of sleep, feeling Dean’s breath warm against the fever heated skin of his neck. As Dean moved in his sleep he flung his arm protectively over Sam’s body and Sam took his hand. Sam’s trembling bruised fingers finding Dean’s strong, smoke stained ones. They twined together and held on till morning.

**************

  
They holed up in the motel for a week as Sammy rested with Dean tending to him like he had when Sammy was a baby. Under Dean’s gentle ministrations Sam’s wounds began to heal, he started eating and he began to look a little less haunted. He still couldn’t see though, wasn’t able to do more than distinguish night from day. Dean bought him dark glasses because he couldn’t bear to see the emptiness in his brother’s eyes, like looking into swamp water or old mirrors.

As the lump on Sammy’s temple receded so did Dean’s hope that Sammy’s sight would come back on its own. Trying really hard to be casual, _Don’t frighten him_ ; he spent the morning checking with his contacts to find a local clinic that was discrete and wouldn’t ask any awkward questions.

Sam seemed in unnaturally high spirits as they got ready to go out. He sat uncomplaining while Dean applied salves and bandages. When Dean tried to smear Vaseline onto Sam’s lips though Sam abruptly brushed his hand away. “Sorry bro, did I hurt you?” Dean’s voice was full of anguished concern.

  
“No, I’m good. Honest Dean I just wasn’t thinking.” Sam smiled his empty smile, not giving anything away.  
Sam let Dean wash and dress him without too much bitching. He even let Dean help him with breakfast in the diner across the street instead of trying to insist he could manage alone.

**************

At the clinic Sam submitted passively to having x-rays, blood tests and scans as the medical team checked his wounds Then they carried out a barrage of further tests to find the cause of Sam’s blindness.

Sam’s attitude frightened Dean. He was way too calm about the whole thing, it just wasn’t natural. Dean knew that if he’d woken up blind like that he’d be punching holes in walls, cursing. Not just sitting there, acting like it was no big deal.

Doctor Rosenberg smiled reassuringly at Dean across the desk, as she checked the test results once more. “I understand your concern Mr Harris but we really have been very thorough. All our tests show that your brother has no physiological reason why he can’t see.”  
Dean looked at her, “well if it’s not physiological what is it?” _spell? Curse? What?_

Sam grinned, a wide, shit eating grin that still didn’t reach his eyes. “She means I’m a fruit loop dude!”

  
“Not at all, Sam.” The Doctor said patiently. “You are suffering from what we call a conversion disorder. It’s a psychological reaction to severe stress or trauma, your minds way of protecting you from things that were too much for you to deal with seeing.” She smiled kindly at Dean as  
she passed over a stack of leaflets. “In the past we would have called it hysterical blindness but we know a little more about these things now. Therapy and antidepressants should bring about a return of your sight.”

“No!” Sam responded vehemently, clutching Dean’s arm. “No therapy, not now, not ever!”  
He stood up abruptly. “I’m not talking about what happened to me, it’s over, we move on.”

In the end, at the Doctor’s insistence Sam accepted the prescription for the anti-depressants along with the antibiotics. Dean could see there would be no arguing with him about the therapy. Sammy could be a stubborn little bastard when his mind was made up.

**************

As the weeks passed their lives fell into a strange routine. Sammy determined to act like nothing was wrong, acting almost indifferent to his condition. While Dean kept doing everything he could think of to help Sammy, even when Sammy pushed him away.

As soon as his collar bone healed Sam began training rigorously to regain his former level of fitness. He did endless sit ups and press ups in the motel room, made Dean lead him on training runs for miles. He even signed up at a shooting range where he could practise shooting at targets that made a noise. Sam’s drive was contagious, rolling Dean along on a helpless wave as he struggled to anticipate Sam’s next moves.

Nights were different though. At night Sam fretted and paced, carefully counting the steps back and forth across the room. He fidgeted constantly and scratched at his hands, cursing Dean if he left anything on the floor. If Dean had to go out; (“It’s just one poker game, Sammy; it’ll feed us for a week.”) Sam stayed behind in silence.

He didn’t want to listen to the radio, needed to be alert to the sounds of his brother’s return. He scratched deep, bloody grooves into the backs of his hands. He was trying so hard to block the thoughts out of his mind. _What if he doesn’t come back? I can’t be alone, I don’t want to be alone, I still want him so much_. He paced the room to try and quiet the hunger pulsing through his body. Need, need, need throbbing through him like molten lava searing through his veins.

Sammy could only sleep in Dean’s arms, nestling into him like he had as a baby. Dean grouched and pretended he only does it for Sam. He’d say “You make me all sweaty dude! You steal all the covers and I can’t sleep for your muttering and snoring.” Truth is he needs Sam as much as Sam needs him, and _dammit why do I need a cold shower when I wake up every morning now?_

As the weeks passed Dean found himself treading on eggshells to avoid upsetting Sam. He knows they can’t go on like this, tiptoeing round each other. But they’re both too afraid to say what they really feel and Dean doesn’t want to be the one to break the status quo. So at night he’d curl around his brother, soothing him to sleep. In bed in the dark Sam doesn’t feel like Dean’s baby brother anymore. Rather he felt like something infinitely more precious, something whose full potential lies tantalisingly just out of reach.

**************

It had been hot and humid all day. The brothers had gone for a run in the park, Sam’s hand on Dean’s arm. Despite Sam’s longer legs their pace is perfectly matched. Sam had been in an odd mood when they got back, bitching and moping. It took Dean hours to figure out that it was because he didn’t want to be left alone.

“I’m only going to get us a few beers, Sammy. I’m coming straight back,” Dean reassured him. And that is all it took to make Sam smile; even if it is that strange, dead smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. So they split a six pack with their takeaway pizza, and talked about nothing in particular for the rest of the evening.

**************

The air was close and oppressive when Sammy woke from a dream of tangled limbs and whispered promises. He felt too hot and restless to sleep again so he carefully wriggled away from his brother‘s embrace. Pulling on a T-shirt Sam felt his way to the door where he lets himself out into the night. The thunder rolls and lightening crackled over head and the storm finally broke, cooling spring rain swiftly soaking him to the skin. Sam tilted his face up at the sky. He felt cleansed by the torrent, like the pain and the sorrow was being washed out of him to drain away in the gutter.

A movement behind him made him realise that Dean was watching him. “Come inside Sam.”  
Sam shook his head, “Not yet, it feels good out here, clean.”  
Dean shrugged helplessly.“Please, Sammy; you’ll catch cold or something.”

Sammy smiled gently, not knowing whether his brother could see his face or not. “Dean, I’m fine, please don’t worry about me.”

Dean’s voice was anguished as he said “I don’t know what to do!”

“Just do what you feel.” Sam replied softly.

Minutes passed in silence as the rain continued to fall. He could hear it drumming on the roof of the motel, hammering onto the Impala, splashing into the greasy puddles of the tarmac. Then Sam felt the movement behind him as Dean’s arms snaked round his waist. Dean’s weight nestled in behind him, his head laid on Sam’s shoulder. Immediately Sam could feel the difference in his brother’s touch, knew that he was loved and wanted. He could feel that Dean’s hunger finally matched his own.

Sam relaxed into Dean’s embrace, relishing the contrast between the heat that radiated from his brothers body and the cool rain that streamed over him.

“Hey dude, is this a chick flick moment?” Sam joked lightly. Dean didn’t reply, just pulled his brother closer.

Finally Sam said “Okay dude, enough now. You wanna take me into the shower and warm up?”  
“Hell yeah!” Dean’s voice was harsher than he intended but Sam didn’t seem to mind.

**************

  
Dean had helped Sam undress so many times since the ordeal but he knew this was different. He could feel the electricity sparking in the air between them and knew that Sam could feel it too. Their breathing came faster and harder as they began to explore each other.

Naked now Dean took a moment to look at Sam. He was so fucking gorgeous it took Dean’s breath away. Every muscle was honed, defined from working out. Sam’s scars were all but healed, his tousled hair still dripping rain, his lips were pouty and sensuous again. Then Sam was leaning into Dean, laughing and catching his breath as they tasted each other for the first time.

“Wanted this for so long,” Sam murmured. His sensitive fingers reading Dean’s face, feeling for the reaction he couldn’t see. Dean caught a finger in his mouth and sucked it in slowly, deliberately, relishing the gasp of pleasure this elicited from his brother. “Me too, little one.”

Then they were kissing again, tumbling into the hot water of the shower and Dean’s hands were all over Sam, re-learning the familiar body from a new perspective. He kept finding the spots that made Sam squirm, and wiggle and moan. His brother’s reactions were all so hot Dean thought he’d come from just watching.

“Wash my hair Dean; I need to feel your fingers in my hair.” Sam’s voice sounded so lost and broken for a moment that Dean pulled back to study his face. Blind eyes didn’t give anything away. “Sam?”

  
Sam’s voice was so quiet Dean had to lean in to hear him above the gushing water.  
“He pulled my hair back and made me suck him. “ Sam’s voice was a strangled gasp now and he clung to Deans arms. “You have to take me back, make me yours again.”

“You’re always mine, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was thick with emotion. His mouth met Sam’s in a kiss that was fierce and protective as he reached up for the shampoo so he could tangle his fingers in Sam’s hair.

**************

The water began to cool and Dean took his brother by the hand and gently led him to the bed. “Girl!” Sam murmured laughing. Then his face grew suddenly serious. “I won’t break, Dean, I want this! I want you to fuck me more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“I know Sam, I’ve always known.” Dean’s voice is almost pleading as he lied over Sam on the bed.

Sam’s hands were each side of Dean’s face as he flipped them suddenly so that he was straddling Dean’s body. Skin on skin, their cocks rubbing together, the friction so intense that Dean cried out. Sammy drove his tongue deep inside Dean’s mouth and they were kissing like they’re going to turn each other inside out.

Dean knew this should feel wrong, but it felt more right than anything ever before. This mouth he is plundering was as familiar as his own. This tooth broken in a fight with a werewolf; and this one cracked by Dean himself when he punched Sammy for leaving him the night before he went to college.

There was a wicked grin on Sam’s face. “Have you got lube bro?”

Dean felt like he was the blind one as he tried to grope for the Vaseline he knew was in the nightstand. But he can’t concentrate because Sammy‘s tongue is doing wicked things to his nipples, licking and biting, teasing. Dean felt he was far beyond speech. Words aren’t necessary as he realises Sam’s already got it and is working the cool gel up the length of his dick.

“Now Dean.” he commands, and Dean might be the one who’s going to do the fucking but it’s easy to see who’s in control. “Now!” Sam demands again and gently as he can Dean coats his fingers in the slick and used them to prepare his brother. One finger, two, then three and his gentleness is too slow, too tentative. Sammy was writhing on the bed, muttering and calling Dean’s name over and over again. “Dean, yes, yes, love you Dean now, please now.”

Dean eased himself forward and Sam is so tight, so hot, so perfect, Dean wants to never be anywhere else. He breathed deeply, one arm bracing himself so he can look at Sam’s face. Sam is flushed and abandoned as he pushed himself forward to meet Dean’s thrusts.

The sensation is almost more than Dean can bear. He knows he hasn’t got long so he grasps Sam’s cock in his hand, matching his strokes to his thrusts. Sam’s hands were grasping his shoulders tightly enough to bruise. It made him feel like they were fusing into one being and the thought sent him tumbling over the edge. The orgasm so shattering that he lost himself in it. Dean’s last thought was to cry out Sam’s name as he felt his hot seed gush between their bodies, then he was lost in the warmth and darkness.

**************

When Dean woke up he felt Sam’s hand tracing lazy circles on his stomach. He was aware of Sam placing feather light kisses on his jaw, eye brow, nose. Dean felt so contented, so complete he wanted to lie there, lost in bliss forever. Eventually he opens his eyes to see Sam looking at him, a smile in the eyes that had been empty for so long.

“Sam?”

Sam grinned. “Did the earth move for you?”

“Can you see me?” Hope rose in his chest. “Dude, can you?”

Sam nodded his affirmation, and Dean felt the mirth bubbling up from inside him. “Well I’ve fucked people blind before so I suppose I should have considered the possibility sooner,” He drawls.

Sam punched him on the shoulder only to kiss the place immediately. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” He laughed. “Hail to the mighty healing power of Dean’s dick.”

  
Then they’re kissing again and it’s gentle now and happy, full of all the good things that banish the fear and darkness. For the moment anyway, there’s no guilt or regrets. They could deal with that later. But now, right now, they’re finally where they both belonged. They were home.

 **THE END.**


End file.
